


Audition

by Janice_Lester



Category: Star Trek RPF, Supernatural RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-11
Updated: 2014-12-11
Packaged: 2018-03-01 02:47:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2756723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Janice_Lester/pseuds/Janice_Lester
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Karl attends an audition, makes some new friends, and misses Pine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Audition

**Author's Note:**

> Heavy references to a certain iconic British 60s TV show; will make less sense if you're unfamiliar with the show in question. Aimless, wistful, and with an inadequate title. But _finished_ at last! Beta'd by [](http://vee-dub.livejournal.com/profile)[vee_dub](http://vee-dub.livejournal.com/)  
> .

It’s been a fair while since Karl’s actually had to audition for something rather than jumping straight to a screen test, and even longer since he had to wait around with others up for the same role. But he guesses the audition is what he gets for the blinding lack of success of his last few movies, and the waiting around is what he gets for coming straight from the airport (via Starbucks, because he’s not immune to jet lag, damn it) instead of checking into his hotel only to have to rush out again. (He’d be staying with Pine, of course, except that loverboy is off doing a rom-com in Europe somewhere, and the decorators are in while he’s away.)

So here he is. Karl Urban, travelling actor. Backpack, stubble, lukewarm remains of coffee, and the sort of chair you associate with low-rent offices everywhere. Dotted around him in the makeshift waiting room are a handful of guys he doesn’t know and one he kinda does: tallish, broadish, beard much lighter-coloured than hair. Someone he knows from…somewhere. Seen on TV, maybe.

As he’s wracking his sleep-deprived brains, the stranger notices him watching. Looks his way, mouth quirking slightly. “Jensen Ackles,” he offers.

“ _Supernatural_ ,” Karl’s brain supplies delightedly, and, unfortunately, aloud. “I used to watch your show with my kid,” he adds, and then isn’t sure whether that makes it better or worse. Worse, on reflection. Especially if that show is still on the air, which it might be, for all he knows. Anyway, Jensen Ackles does not visibly take offence.

“And you’re Karl Urban. My wife took me to see _Abstemious_ last week.” There’s a tactful pause, and then “You were very good,” with the faintest emphasis on the _you_.

Karl acknowledges this with a nod. He put his all into that movie. Which was all anyone could ask of him, but nowhere near enough to make it a good movie. (Pine had enjoyed it, but in that literature student’s watch-me-take-it-apart-and-laugh-at-it way.) “So, you up for ‘Unnamed Hero’ too?”

“Yep.” He leans forward, elbows on knees, and adopts an amusingly confidential tone. “You know much about this project?”

“Not a thing, except shooting starts in December and they’re willing and able to plonk down my usual fee.”

“More than they told me,” Jensen says wryly, shifting in his chair so he can pull one foot up onto the opposite knee. “Or more than my agent bothered to pass on, anyway. You know agents, they can be a bit—”

Just then Karl gets called.

“Break a leg,” Jensen murmurs, as Karl’s getting to his feet. “Let me know if you pick up any clues to the big mystery!”

***

When Karl emerges from the large, echoing, darkened room with its five producers, six assistants, two casting directors, and one unidentified person he took to be the writer, Jensen Ackles is still sitting there in the waiting room, now sprawled back in his chair. Beside him is the guy who’d been skipping (yes, skipping) out of the audition space as Karl was heading in. They’re chatting like old friends, but Jensen waves him over so Karl grabs the chair on Jensen’s other side.

“Karl Urban, Misha Collins. You might know him from that world famous epic of its genre, _Stonehenge Apocalypse_.”

“Ri-i-i-i-i-ght,” Karl drawls. He offers his hand. They shake. Karl promptly yawns and wishes the coffee fairy would pay him a visit. “You up for ‘Unnamed Hero’ like the rest of us?”

“Uh huh. I’m going to get it, too. Uh, no offence.”

Karl laughs. “None taken.”

“Well, Mish, if you get it, I wonder how long it’ll be before they actually get around to telling you your character’s name?”

“Oh, they won’t,” Misha says promptly.

Their eyes meet. “They can’t,” Karl amplifies. “The source material never tells us his name.”

Misha is nodding sagely.

“Somebody care to fill me in on the secret?” Jensen asks.

“Oh, no, no, no,” Misha says. “We can’t _tell_ you. You have to guess, just like we did.” He makes a big show of doing a quick actorly prep routine, breathing in deeply, loosening his shoulders, blanking his face. Then he starts on the extremely familiar exchange they’d been given in the darkened room as the audition piece. “ _Where am I?_ ”

“ _In the Village,_ ” Karl replies, aiming for 10% evil, 90% bureaucrat.

“ _What do you want?_ ”

“ _Information._ ”

“ _Whose side are you on?_ ” Misha demands.

“ _That would be telling. We want information. Information. Information!_ ”

“ _You won’t get it._ ”

“ _By hook or by crook, we will._ ” He breaks character. “Shall we go on?”

Jensen smirks. “Oh, please do.”

“ _Who are you?_ ” Misha demands.

“ _The new Number Two._ ” Karl tries not to think about all the toilet humour which will no doubt rain down in response to the characters’ titles in this movie. If they make it.

“ _Who is Number One?_ ”

“ _You are Number Six._ ”

“ _I am not a number!_ ” Misha snaps. “ _I am a free man!_ ”

Karl laughs as maniacally as possible to finish up. It’s a bit over the top, but _this_ isn’t his audition. And besides, now he kinda does want this Misha guy to get it. He’s not Patrick McGoohan, but there’s some indefinable quality there that is of the same ilk.

“I recognise that last line, I think,” Jensen muses. “Sixties thing, TV, kind of crazy?”

“ _The Prisoner,_ ” Karl supplies. “And it was very, very British.” He looks surreptitiously around. “Seen anyone actually British here?”

“I think that surfer-looking dude over there is Canadian,” Jensen offers. “I’ve seen him _play_ British.”

The fan in Karl would like them to _cast_ British, or at least have a _look_ , but he’s not sure how to say that without sounding both hypocritical and xenophobic.

“I know!” Misha announces, as if he’s just solved the most fundamental riddle of the universe. “We should get chips and beer and marathon _The Prisoner_ at my place!”

Jensen looks simultaneously horrified and fond.

Karl has the distinct impression that no matter who gets this part—and to tell the truth, he’s almost hoping the thing never gets made because it’s pretty much bound to be a travesty—the three of them are going to be great friends. Just as soon as his jet lag wears off.

***

“ _The Prisoner?_ ” Pine repeats, sounding distant and hollow in that speakerphone way. “Trippy.”

“I’m not gonna get it. Though I did ask that they bear me in mind for a villain. If they do the thing properly, there’ll be some fantastic scenery to chew.” He wriggles, sinking more deeply into the hotel mattress. “So how’s your shoot going?”

“Hmm? JLaw has true comedic timing. The costumes are itchy. We spent all day dancing to a complete lack of music on the world’s creakiest wooden floor. The pastries are good. Ooh, ooh, and I found this _fantastic_ book shop! Dust motes, spindly little chairs, old books in eight languages.” He goes on at some length in this vein.

“You sound happy,” Karl puts in, when he gets the chance. “I’m glad.”

“Yeah, I’m happy.” There’s a pause. “Doesn’t mean I don’t miss you, though.” It’s a little awkward, until he adds affectionately, “Number Six.”

“I am not a number,” Karl replies softly, “I am Chris Pine’s man.”

 

 

***END***


End file.
